What Do You Mean!
by Mademoiselle Obvious
Summary: ON HIATUS.When Adam comes avisiting, there's only one person that Aziraphale can call to save him: Crowley. Duh.. But..What happens when Crowley slips up and says something he shouldn't have..? !
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Good Omens. If I were Neil Gaiman, I would own Good Omens. Of course, if I were Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere would _so_ have the marquis and Richard snogging in the end. ; If you sue me...Then my mom will beat you up!

**A/N:** Ooooh. Right. So, tonight I didn't feel like reading fanfiction--because I'm too lazy to search through all of the crap to find the few pieces worthy of my attentions /snicker/--and I've had the first paragraph of this baby hanging around since I _read_ Good Omens...which was..like...July.. ;...So...don't get terribly mad if some of the crap is _way_ off, mmk? And..as to What They Didn't Tell Him--or whatever the hell it's called../has forgotten/ Well...I don't feel like writing that..because the next chapter should be Snape explaining things...Which will be difficult to write seeing as I have no idea what's going on...

It was five years after the Almost-Armaggedon when Aziraphale saw Adam again. He was sitting in the back of his bookshop, drinking tea, when the faint jingle from the front of the shop alerted him to the presence of a potential buyer.

Though his first instinct was to duck behind the armchair he was currently residing in and to pretend that the shop was empty, he rejected that idea when he realized that the customer could steal—or deface!—one of his precious books. And that was something Aziraphale couldn't—_wouldn't_—stand for.

So instead of hiding, he stood up and tiptoed towards the doorjamb. Peering out into the shop, he was surprised to see the curly, golden mop of hair that he recognized from the army base. Aziraphale jumped backwards—straight into the table that was holding his neglected cup of tea—when that head swiveled in his direction.

_What to do what to do!_ Aziraphale had been given strict orders to stay away from all of the mortals involved with "That Incident" as Heaven liked to refer to it—when they referred to it at all. And _now_ there was the cause of The Incident, in his front room. Heading for him right now, if those footsteps were any indicator.

Panicking, Aziraphale swiped the cell phone that Crowley had given him a few months ago and dialed the number one before punching the send button. Realizing that the boy would soon be at the door, Aziraphale did the only thing possible in a situation such as this: He slammed the door shut and turned the little lock. That would keep the boy out.

Except…He was the son of Satan. That had to grant him some sort of door-opening power, didn't it?

_Pick up the bloody phone, Crowley!_

Finally, Crowley drawled "Hel_lo_"

"Crowley! Help!" Aziraphale shrieked.

"Wha? Aziraphale, is that you? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

In fact, Aziraphale did know what time it was. It was noon. There was no excuse for that sleepy tone. He told Crowley so.

"Yes, well. _Some_ of us actually have to _work_. And _sometimes_ that _work_ will run _overtime_. As a result, I didn't get my full twelve hours sleep. So I was catching up."

"You don't need to sleep!" Aziraphale cried. "You need to get the bloody hell over here _right now_ and help me! I don't know what to do! A-adam is here!"

"Adam..? Why, Azzy you old dog! Finally sampling some of the 'sins of the flesh'? About time, I say."

Aziraphale fairly growled at the glee apparent in Crowley's voice. "Shut _up_, you twit!"

But Crowley paid his phone companion no mind. "So, you've wooed this boy, and now you're not sure what to do, eh? Good idea to call me. I'm _well_ acquainted with this kind of situation-"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale forgot his predicament for a moment in order to be aghast at what he was getting from the conversation. "Do you mean to tell me that you have engaged in sexual situations with _mortals_!"

"'Course I have, you silly angel. And good thing I have, too. Otherwise what a situation you'd be in! Now, after wooing said Adam, you must undress him. I would hope that you would know at least that mu-"

"Crowley you fool! I'm not…_wooing_ Adam! You _must_ remember Adam! From-" here he lowered his voice, as though some angel would hear him and report him to God "Almost-Armageddon!"

There was silence on the other end.

"_That_ Adam? Why are you wooing him? Gosh. I mean, he was an alright looking kid, but, _him_? You could have wooed _me_!" Aziraphale felt a bit shocked at the depressed tone Crowley had acquired.

"I'M NOT WOOING ANYONE!" he shouted. "He's _here_—in my bookshop! I've locked myself in the back room, but I'm not sure what good a bloody door is going to do against the _bloody son of Satan!_"

"What!" yelled Crowley.

"And _what_ in the hell do you mean 'You could have wooed me'!" Aziraphale screeched.

"Er." replied Crowley. "I'll-I'll be there in a minute! Just sit tight!"

"_What_ did you _mean_ 'You could have wooed me'!" Aziraphale repeated. It was only after he'd finished the statement that he realized Crowley had hung up on him. _Coward_.

**A/N:** Review if you want. I'm not sure where I'm going with this...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't oooown them. They belong to Neil Gaiman. To whom we must all bow down. For he is great and terrible. /bows/

**A/N:** Yoooo.So then. Second chapter/gasp/ Yes. I do not know what will happen next. I really like Adam in this chapter though. He's very...menacing. /cough/ Now...to reply to the reviewer...;; Only one..But, I thank you, single reviewer, for reviewing.

**Devinedragon:** Well..You can see Adam doesn't respond very nicely. oo;

XxX

While he was waiting for Crowley to show up, Aziraphale tried to figure out what he had meant. Glancing warily at the door—which was still shut, thank heavens—he sat back down in the cushy old armchair and contemplated the demon.

'_You could have wooed me_' Aziraphale couldn't seem to get over that. What _had_ he meant. Did…did Crowley _want_ to be wooed by him? No, that wasn't possible. Crowley was _not_ the type of demon to be wooed. If anything, he was the type to do the wooing.

Azriaphale had wondered about that at times. Crowley had flirted with many mortals—while in Aziraphales company, no less—but _never_ had he done so much as accidentally brush up against Aziraphale. In fact, now that he thought about it, Aziraphale couldn't remember a time when Crowley had _voluntarily_ touched him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knuckles rapping against a wooden surface. _Rather_, Aziraphale thought, _like the noise one made when one was knocking on a door_. Aziraphale glanced at the door. Sure enough, the sound seemed to be coming from behind the door.

"Er..Hello?" he asked.

"Aziraphale." declared a voice.

"Uhm." replied Aziraphale.

"Open this door. Immediately." commanded the voice.

"Adam..? Is that you?" stuttered Aziraphale.

"Yes. _Open_ the door."

"Hum. I don't think I will, if it's all the same to you.."

"Aziraphale." repeated Adam. "I have been quite kind as of yet. I have let you lock yourself into this room, I have let you call for 'backup,' and I have asked you—_quite nicely_—to open the door. The very door that, if I so wished, would _burn_ down. However, if I'm forced to open the door myself, this conversation will not end so nicely for you. Now, are you going to open the door, or shall I?"

Aziraphale made a distinct, mouse-like noise in response.

"I'll count to three."

Aziraphale silently prayed that Crowley would arrive soon.

"One."

There was the sound of tires squealing against pavement.

"Two."

The door of a car being slammed.

"Three."

The twinkle of the bell above the shops door.


	3. A Note From the Author

This fic is dead. The reaper has come to visit my computer and has carried off its soul.

The fact of the matter is, I didn't particularly like Good Omens when I read it. I've found that all of Neil Gaiman's other books are much better. So I blame the suckiness of Good Omens on Terry Pratchett. Now don't get all offended because I don't like the book or Pratchett. I'm allowed to. I have that snotty 'I can say what I want; it's a free country' attitude that most Americans have. Good for me.

So, if you would like to take this fic and finish it--because I feel bad for it--then ask me for it. Even if I didn't like the book, the fic still deserves to be finished..

But first, some rules.

You must be able to spell and use correct grammar. If your e-mail or whatever is full of 'lols' and 'jks' and 'u' and other chatspeak, then I will never let you take the fic. In fact, I will read some of your other stories and see if you are acceptable.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. 'How dare she demand this of me when _she_ can't write for crap!'

Well, too bad.

So, go on. If you really want it, ask. I won't bite. /scoff/


End file.
